


come back…be here

by TheMipstaz



Category: One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi, Zayn Leaves One Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: A brief look into the aftermath of March 25.





	1. 4AM, the second day

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title and chapter titles from [Come Back...Be Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjccqNEOC9E) by T Swift. Honestly this was me being in the mood for some Sad Feelings, and what's sadder than thinking about ot4 trying to come to terms with the loss of their fifth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Niall is the only one who can bear to see Zayn off. He’s the only one who would look Z in the eye afterwards. He’s the only one who maybe came close, at the beginning, to understanding why Z was doing this to them.]

Niall’s world doesn’t end with a bang or a whimper. It ends in a stuffy room in Hong Kong with Zayn’s exhausted confessions tearing holes into Niall’s chest. It ends with Liam’s shock and Louis’ volcanic anger and Harry’s wounded looks. It ends when Niall is on the top of the world, teetering on the highest ledge, afraid to look down.

Their team buzzes about the best way to throw together a statement about Zayn’s departure, how to reassure fans that it’s temporary. But when Niall can bear to focus on Zayn’s face for more than a minute at a time, he can see the drawn lines and too-hollow cheeks. And he knows. He knows that when Zayn boards his plane in a couple hours, he won’t come back.

So, at 4AM, Niall wrenches himself from the bed he’s pretending to sleep in, skin rasping uncomfortably against the crisp sheets. It doesn’t feel like a new day, doesn’t feel like the sun will rise to burn away the dredges of last night’s nightmare. But Niall slips on his most comfortable joggers and a vest anyway. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, squeezes out the door without bothering to make sure he has his keycard, and stops dead.

In this odd morning hour, underneath the off-white hotel lights that buzz so brightly Niall has to rapidly blink away spots, the hallway doesn’t feel real. It feels like a pocket of limbo cut off from the rest of the world. In this little bubble, Niall stares at Zayn. He takes in the hastily packed duffle slung over his shoulder, half a t-shirt poking out that Niall swears belongs to Louis. He tries to memorize the breadth of Zayn’s shoulders and dip of his collarbones. He tries to breathe through the thought he might not see either again.

“Bit early, innit?”

“Early flight,” Zayn replies shortly.

“To leave us.” Niall tries not to make it sound accusatory. He doesn’t know how well he does.

“To leave this place.”

“Because you hate it.”

“Because it’s doing me in.” Zayn’s grip tightens on his carryall.

“What if it didn’t mean it?” _What if it was just a misunderstanding? What if we could fix it? How can we make you stay?_

“Then it shouldn’t feel bad. It’s not its fault,” comes Zayn’s quiet reply.

Zayn appears to waver in the wonky, harsh lighting—a mirage before he’s even left the building. Or maybe he left ages ago, and Niall can only just now see Zayn’s emptiness. How his skeleton just cracks and crumbles inward like an eggshell. It hurts to look at, and Niall squints until Zayn’s outline blurs. “Do you hate us?” He closes his eyes—against the stinging light, against the look on Zayn’s face—and sighs in relief at the cool darkness.

“Do you hate me?” Zayn’s voice sounds further than before, drifting down a long hallway.

“Could never hate you,” Niall mumbles, exhaustion crumpling his limbs. “You’re,” the hotel carpet feels rough against Niall’s fingertips as he slumps over, “you’re my...Zayn.”

A warm hand brushes Niall’s fringe, fingers petting over his nose and cheeks.

“Nialler?”

“Zayn?” The name falls automatically from Niall’s lips, a last desperate grasp at fading mist.

“No,” a tight cough. “No, it’s Louis. What’re you doing out here?”

Niall blinks awake to see Louis’ concerned face leaning over him. Shadows stretch along his nose and unshaven cheeks and tired eyes. Almost directly behind, the light silhouettes him in a soft glow. Unmoored, Niall reaches out for that golden outline. He pets at Louis’ hair, golden-brown strands soft against his skin. Louis watches him, blue eyes blinking patiently as Niall’s hand stops to rest against his neck.

“He’s gone,” Niall chokes it out like a breath of angry hornets. Everything starts to fuzz and prickle. “Louis, he’s gone, and he’s not coming back.” His breath hitches, a fish hook lodged deep into his lungs with a taut line dragging it up his esophagus, bloody and misshapen.

Louis’ mouth tightens infinitesimally, but he keeps the rest of his face calm. “I know, love, let it out.”

Niall doesn’t feel the tears until Louis thumbs them away.


	2. (if i had known what i know now) i never would have played so nonchalant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Louis thinks about it more than he ought to think about shooting the shit at 2AM when they were dumb and young and halfway in love.]

“Most likely to get married first.” 

“Liam,” Louis answers without hesitation. “Got too many feelings for his own good, our Payno. Good lad.” 

“Most likely to try and go to uni after we win X Factor and become world superstars,” Zayn prompts.

Louis hums contemplatively. “Reckon Harry’d like to have some ridiculous fancy degree. Dunno if he’d ever get around to doing it though.” 

“Niall probably could,” Zayn reasons. “He loves his astrology or whatever. Astronomy? I always get them mixed up.” 

Louis shrugs. “My turn. Most likely to break up the band.” He knows it’s a stupid question to ask when the band barely has stood on wobbly Bambi legs. But Louis is floaty with weed and looking for a good laugh. Anything to forget some of the crushing pressure that comes with reality television.

“Me,” Zayn grins, laughing before it’s even left his lips. 

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head. 

“Don’t think I’ve got the diva in me to do it?”

“Don’t be daft. ‘Course you’re diva enough. Anyone who’s tried to touch your hair after you’ve done it up knows that. What I meant is, don’t think your little strop could break us up. Stronger than that, we are.” 

“Not even if I fucked off for good?” 

“Making plans, Malik?” 

Zayn snorts. “As if. I just meant, like,” his eyebrows scrunch together in concentration, “like, what if aliens abduct me or something?” 

“Figure we could readjust as a four piece. Maybe train Niall to run backstage and put on a wig to come out and sing your part.” Louis nods seriously. “Yeah, I think we’d manage.” 

“Sounds like shit, mate.” 

“Then you better not get kidnapped by fucking aliens.” 

“Cheers.”


	3. i can't help but wish you took me with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Harry will deny it until the day he dies. The way he ran after Zayn with a half-packed bag and a selfish “don’t leave” on his lips. “Don’t leave me. Let’s do this. You and me.”]

“You don’t want to do this, Harry,” Zayn says quietly, tiredly. 

“Then don’t make me.” Harry tries to keep his bottom lip from wobbling. “ _ Stay _ .” 

“I can’t.” It doesn’t come out pained or fresh or raw. It comes out practiced, dull, like Zayn has said it so much the wicked sharp edges have smoothed out. But the blunt sides still cut Harry up and leaves him gasping. 

“Why?” Into that single word, Harry presses everything his dry throat can’t choke out:  _ why aren’t we enough? Why couldn’t we love you right? What happened to us against the world? _

Instead of answering, ignoring how Harry flayed himself open for flies to buzz over and vultures to pick at, Zayn steps forward. “Here.” He holds out a fist. Harry automatically reaches out and feels Zayn press something cool and sharp into his palm. 

Something in Harry’s chest fractures when Zayn’s hand drops away and leaves a little trinket in the middle of Harry’s sweaty palm. It feels like a more definitive goodbye than the endless meetings or Zayn’s packed bags. The charm Harry had given Zayn all those years ago in Robin’s bungalow, when Zayn had hid in the bedroom and Harry hadn’t known how to deal with this quiet boy but knew he would do anything to make this mad band idea work. The other lads romped by the pool, and Harry crawled under the covers with Zayn. Secure under crumpled white sheets, Harry had pushed the shiny enamel-coated banana pin into Zayn’s hand and closed his fingers around it. 

“My very best good luck charm.” At Zayn’s blank face, Harry had insisted, “Got me an A in maths, that did. Maybe,” Harry fiddled, “maybe it can get us through this mess too.” 

“Think X Factor might need a bit more luck than maths,” Zayn said after a long while of inspecting the pin. 

“Worth a shot,” Harry shrugged, snuggling deeper into the mattress and pushing his hair off his face. 

“Yeah,” Zayn curled his hand around the pin. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Now, the charm sits dwarfed in Harry’s palm, small and insignificant and so much smaller than he remembers. “You’re—” Harry swallows thickly. “You don’t want it?” 

“Hold onto it for me, yeah?” 

Harry curls his fingers around the worn edges, color faded and chipped with time. “Yeah.” He doesn’t look up from his tight fist for a long time, scared to see the empty space Zayn left behind. He doesn’t count on Zayn coming back and says as much when Niall wanders in. 

“Here.” Harry fumbles the pin at Niall, as though the metal scalds his skin. 

“What’s this then?” Niall squints at the little metal banana. 

“Nothing. Bin it if you want.” 

Niall frowns at Harry’s flat voice and tucks it into his pocket for safekeeping. 


	4. this is falling for you when you are worlds away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Louis tells him not to bother. But Liam can’t help but buy a ticket to NYC anyway. He’s just so tired of playing the rational one, the glue that holds everyone together. He just wants to be the hopeful idealistic one for once, in the hope that the universe or Z or God will hear him.]

Louis tells him not to bother—not to waste his money, not to waste his time when they’ve got promo and statements and interviews to remind the world they haven’t fractured apart. When they at least have to play the part for the cameras and stuff their shards behind closed doors. 

But Liam can’t help but buy a last minute ticket to New York City anyway. He stares at his email confirmation until the bright light stings and he has to shut his laptop. It feels like the first slip up he’s allowed himself in the eternity and a half since Zayn left. Since Liam had to ignore his own mangled mess to make sure Louis didn’t fall asleep in a pool of his own toxic rage, Harry didn’t forget to take off the bland mask he put up for press days, Niall didn’t collapse so far inside himself he couldn’t pull himself out. It’s kept him busy, buoying the other lads with as much love as he can muster.

But Liam is so tired. Tired of sneaking empty bottles out of Louis’ still fingers at the end of the night, of holding Harry so the intensity of his wracking sobs don’t shred him apart, of staying up with Niall until all hours of the night. The ticket feels like the one chink in his armor that Liam can allow himself to have. A tiny piece of hope that Liam knows better than to cling onto. 

Liam doesn’t tell anyone, just counts down the hours until their next free day. He doesn’t pack a bag, just shrugs on a coat and a hat and his largest pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to sneak into the airport by himself or get around a bustling place like NYC without getting spotted. Maybe he was counting on the fact that the tabloids must have by now found something better to tear into than a stupid boyband that couldn’t even win X Factor. 

He doesn’t even make it out the front doors. 

“You leaving us too?” 

Liam jolts hard, tripping over his own feet in his guilty haste to swing around and face Harry. “No,” he answers too quickly. 

“Won’t be mad if you are,” Harry shrugs. “Bloody falling apart, aren’t we?” 

“I’m not,” Liam repeats with more conviction, anger edging his words. “I wouldn’t.” 

“Then fancy a spar?” Harry nudges over his shoulder to the thick mat spread over the open floor in the middle of the hotel gym. 

“Not really,” Liam huffs. He turns towards the door again, but Harry blocks his path. 

“Not really asking.”

“I’m not in the mood, Haz,” Liam grumbles, getting proper annoyed now. 

But Harry doesn’t budge. “Humor me. One match. I’ve got the boxing gear all set up. If afterwards you still want to fuck off and do something all of us will regret, then be my guest. But first,” Harry holds Liam’s gaze, “give me three minutes.” 

“Fine!” Liam throws up his hands and marches past Harry into the gym. He flings the doors open and gets goosebumps as the aircon  _ whooshes _ on. “But only because I want to pummel your stupid face.” 

“Fair enough.” Harry tosses him a pair of gloves and protective headgear. 

They end up barefoot because Liam hadn’t worn proper workout trainers on his way out, and the plastic cushion feels strange beneath his feet as he bounces around to warm up. 

Harry raises a questioning eyebrow,  _ Ready?  _

Liam nods. He barely has his mouthguard slipped into place before Harry darts forward with two quick jabs that Liam ducks. He loses his footing a bit at the suddenness of Harry’s first attack and can’t quite find it again as Harry’s fists fly in a flurry. Sweat trickles down his forehead and stings his eyes. He grunts when he blocks a high kick aimed at his shoulder, the force reverberating throughout his body. It aches right down to his teeth but takes away some of the heaviness that has pooled in his chest—knocks it right out of him with the force of someone who drinks green juice every morning. Harry’s glove glances off his forearm. And for the first time in a long while, Liam doesn’t have time to worry if Zayn is eating enough or sleeping alright wherever he is because Harry will beat him black and blue if his concentration slips. So Liam stays patient and defensive, dodging when he can and bracing for the blows that land. 

Finally, Harry gets sloppy, and Liam sneaks in under his guard for a sharp smack to his chest. Harry’s breath bursts out in a surprised puff. He reels backward, and Liam jumps on the offensive. He gives as good as he got, driving Harry back and back and back. Liam hooks a sneaky ankle in and sends Harry sprawling backwards with a heavy  _ oof _ ! 

Then the alarm Harry set goes off; three minutes are up. 

Liam huffs and puffs, trying to fill his lungs enough to ease his heart hammering for more oxygen. He slides off the gloves and headgear, lets them all fall to the mat, and feels lighter. Harry does the same and leaves the two of them in damp shirts, trackies sticky with sweat, and bare feet. Liam stares at Harry with unfocused eyes and tries to parse out how he feels. Airier in the chest, but denser in his sore arms—less like he might float away in a thundercloud of confused hurt. More like he could do with a kip to forget about New York City. 

“Fancy a round two?” Harry grunts, propping himself up on his elbows. He runs a hand through his sweaty, matted hair. 

Liam rolls his eyes. “Hardly. You stink enough as it is.” 

“Hey!” 

“I’m the one sharing a bed with you. I’m allowed to complain.” 

Harry pouts and reaches up with grabby hands instead of commenting on how Liam’s invited himself into Harry’s room for the night. Liam leans down and clasps Harry’s hands tight, hauls upward until Harry staggers into him. 

“Good to know these muscles are good for something,” Harry chirps, patting Liam’s biceps and curling an arm over Liam’s shoulders. 

Liam makes sure to wrinkle his nose at Harry’s perspiring armpit but doesn’t move away as they walk towards the lift. 


	5. i don't wanna miss you like this (and i don't wanna need you this way)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [The days immediately After make and break them. Stretch their atoms until it hurts to come back together again. They scratch everything they had for the fifth album to start fresh. they write a new album, a goodbye album, an _i love you_ album, a _look what you did to us_ album. They hope he listens, but know they’ll be okay if he doesn’t.]

They call it _Made in the AM_. 


End file.
